Before We Go
by lokiyan
Summary: She's not his first and likely will not be his last. He had to live forever, after all. Blair/Edward Cullen


A/N: From a prompt by lostinmaze : Blair/Edward Cullen "first love is just that... first."

Before We Go

He reminds her of Nate. Both blindingly beautiful, charming.

Distant, distracted, brooding.

It's no wonder why she wants to curl her body around his arm and never let go. History has a nasty way of repeating itself, after all.

But she fights hard to surpress that fourteen year old girl with abandonment issues and instead rolls over on her stomach and places a cool palm over his colder chest. The white cotton sheets peel off her back and her skin chills beneath the rickety ceiling fan above them.

"What are you thinking about?" Even his voice is melodic.

"You tell me," she murmurs against his chest. Her breath elicits a shudder and she smiles proudly to herself. She pulls one thin, blanket entangled leg over his and revels in the way he feels beneath her. A strong arm wraps around her waist and ends in a palm splayed across her lower back.

"You know I don't like doing that with you." His lips feel cold against her forehead.

"Scared of what you might find?" To be perfectly honest, she is petrified of what he would find - the dark corners she hide herself in, the harsh words she trap behind her teeth, hallway after hallway of disappointment and resentment festering behind her smile like a forgotten corpse.

"I like not knowing. This... learning thing." His smooth, hard cheek brushes against hers and his lips hover by her ear. "Learning how much you like this." Blood red fingertips grasp the sheets. "... or this." A sigh. "Or..." He leans in and catchers her lower lip between his teeth, carefully worrying the flesh.

"If you keep this up, I won't wake up in the morning and we'll miss our flight."

"You can climb on my back and we'll fly there." She laughs, a high pitched feminine laugh that he could never get out of his old flame, and he enjoys listening to it as much as he loves swallowing it with a kiss. He kisses her laughs like she kisses his smiles.

He turns her over - a quick scoop too elegant to be human - and she finds herself on her back, hair strewn haphazardly against the pillow. With him, she doesn't care. She's tired of comparing herself to heightened realities, mythical creatures and _him_. He knows she's no model. She's not a lead ballerina or a golden-haired nymph but he loves her anyway. She likes to believe that in him and he loves that she does.

Because he loves the way her legs are soft as they cradle around his body, how she's all feminine curves and warmth. Dark in her features and light in her touch. She parries with her words and is so utterly human in the way she just _wants_ unabashedly and selfishly. He loves being loved and being fought for - so passionately and defiantly that it's impossible for him to ignore.

With her, sex is not a little death - he has enough of that on his own - but rather a new birth. She's not his first, but what does that matter when it's the most real and alive he's felt in decades?

They arch together, mouths open, little hands on broad shoulders, and grasp onto each other just to keep from floating straight away. She finds the flesh by his neck and surrounds it with her lips, the irony not lost on either of them. He holds onto her round, childbearing hips and submits, the violence roaring in the very definition of his being simmering down to the boiling lust she inspires in him. He holds her more delicately than Nate, more passionately than Chuck. He holds her eyes and presses his forehead to hers.

He's just _more_.

She curls her painted toes in the cutest way and whimpers and he holds back for just a moment, allowing her to enjoy and prolong her pleasure. "I won't break, you know," she once said to him. When she says it, he believes her. The pure strength and awe-inspiring presence that is Blair Waldorf is absolutely undeniable.

So the first time she told him to "fuck her," he did.

But then there are moments like this, when they roll their hips sensually to the very peak of the grandest high, and tumble down in a mess together.

She holds him after, like he's about to break. Or maybe because _they _are about to break. He brushes her hair back away from her face, with the weight of her head upon his forearm and the sweat cool against her skin, he whispers in her ear. "Sleep, Bear."

And she does. Knowing he'll be there in the morning with an extended hand, ready to take her onto the next adventure.

She thinks she can do this forever.


End file.
